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<title>Pulling Out a Poisonous Weed by LCampbellFE</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29369637">Pulling Out a Poisonous Weed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LCampbellFE/pseuds/LCampbellFE'>LCampbellFE</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Nonfiction, Original work - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:29:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>500</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29369637</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LCampbellFE/pseuds/LCampbellFE</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a nonfiction piece I wrote in my first year of university back in 2017. I wrote about a toxic friend that I used to have and was very proud of myself for breaking off that friendship. </p>
<p>After reading this again after so many years, I'm proud of myself for the last line (lol)</p>
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<a name="section0001"><h2>Pulling Out a Poisonous Weed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     We were friends in grade 9 and 10. That was all. She wasn’t a good friend and constantly judged what I ate, what I wore and everything else that I did. I had other friends who truly cared about me, yet I decided that she was going to be my closest friend. I don’t remember how we became friends, but we got along well. </p>
<p>     In the small town of -------, Mr. M’s grade 9 English class was when she would be the worst. Mr. would be talking about Romeo and Juliet and, like normal, would drift off into telling us some historical facts about the play or Shakespeare himself. Only a few people would be paying attention and the older moustached man wouldn’t do anything about the growing noise that came from his students. She and I would be talking about something and suddenly she would start fighting with me, saying that I was an idiot because I had my facts wrong, but it had been her who was wrong. She always had to be correct. </p>
<p>     It was also in that dull classroom that had maps of the world, cheesy motivational and guitar posters along the walls when I would explain the plot of the book I was currently reading to her. Like any person who is thoroughly enjoying the story they are invested in, I was explaining every little detail of the book to her. I would either slowly stop talking when I saw the disinterest in her brown eyes and the twirl of her red hair around her index finger or she would flat out tell me to stop talking because she didn’t care and didn’t want to listen. Her disrespectful behaviour had gotten so bad that even my mother had started to question her. </p>
<p>     At the end of grade 10, there was an awards ceremony in the ice rink, but with no ice, for the ninth to twelfth grades. The rink was the perfect place to hold the awards since it was so hot outside in the Manitoba heat and inside was nice and cool for all the faculty and family members of the students to sit. We both had gotten the principal’s honour roll and I did my best to ignore her but she came up to me. I faked my smiles and pretended that things were okay. Summer had officially started and I finally confronted her over messages a month later. I was too scared to talk to her face to face. After that conversation, the next school year was very awkward and I was hateful towards her. She had made me feel so horrible about myself, and I now realize that she treated me that way because she felt horrible about herself and I was an easy target. The years after that were so much happier and I became closer with the friends I already had. She had been the weed that was killing the beautiful garden that was full of friends who love me. </p>
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